


Blood and Chamomile (HypZag Month 2021)

by hermesbabie



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermesbabie/pseuds/hermesbabie
Summary: Assorted HypZag drabbles, some NSFW (rating is for when that happens), once a week for the rest of the month and maybe a little beyond. Supergiant let me smooch him. He deserves it.Week 1: Golden (T)
Relationships: Hypnos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Blood and Chamomile (HypZag Month 2021)

**Author's Note:**

> He is young the first time he notices that they blush different colors.
> 
> -
> 
> Hello! Here is my first humble offering for HypZag month! Cute blushy boys for you. I’m aware some of the timeline stuff here is a little messed up, but let me live my silly little life, won’t you?
> 
> I’m on [twitter](https://twitter.com/hermesbabie) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/hermesbabie)!

He’s not one for physical exertion- and he never will be, as time will tell- so when he runs forward on fawns’ legs to grasp at his mother’s sleeves, the effort paints his cheeks gold. 

It happens to his brother, too- when Thanatos becomes frustrated, the color rises in his face, which only irritates him further. Before he knows better, he slaps at his cheeks to attempt to push it away, but fails every time. 

Zagreus is not like either of them, he soon realises. 

“It is the ichor in their veins,” Achilles tells him when the curiosity finally strikes, dabbing a cloth bandage at the ugly red and brown scrape on his knee (a consequence of a child’s boundless energy mixed with the relentless stamina of a god, and how that spirit often causes collisions between his body and the rough stone floors of the House), “You are… curiously dissimilar.” 

Time passes in its strange way, and he grows, muscular like Death but short (well, for a god) like Sleep. He bleeds and blushes a mortal red. 

“Curiously dissimilar,” becomes a phrase that repeats in his head like an unwanted mantra when it comes to light that he is not, in fact, brother to Death and Sleep, but the son of a lost goddess, half-mortal herself. Before the pain of deceit can nestle too deeply in his core, he steels his resolve to seek her out. Then, and every subsequent failure, ends with him staring at his ruby blood as it pools beneath him, before it all fades and he emerges from the Styx, shaking more of the stuff out of his hair. 

How many times it has been now, he does not know- it must be close to eighty, and all without ever reaching his goal. The past few times, he has felt the surface air, it’s strange bite and gusts of wind, before his father’s spear, or his lackeys, or his fire sends him crumbling back to the place he’d started. 

Many things have changed. The anger that once fueled him has not disappeared, but mellowed out into something closer to hope. He is stronger than he has ever been, more vicious and terrifying in the throes of battle than he had thought himself capable of; it is not a change he admires, but one he accepts as necessity, if he is ever to escape this place. His understanding of himself is vastly furthered- Achilles believes him to be the god of blood, thus why he colors like a mortal, and why his spellcasting seems to standardize itself as a crystal of pure sanguine. The order of his life shifts with every failure and each lesson learned.

This is not to say that _everything_ changes with such regularity.

“Oof, Redacted gotcha _again_? They must be made of some serious stuff!”

Hypnos’s voice rings through the hallway with such sincerity that it is in many ways more painful than the fact that “Redacted” is his own father. His advice is not always helpful, per say, _yes actually he did try dodging, and not standing in magma, and dying less, for all the good it was doing him_ , but it comes from a place of genuine kindness, motivated by nothing other than goodwill. The same cannot be said for many. Even the Olympians who aid him with might beyond the power of pep talks do not all do so unselfishly; Ares simply delighted in the violence of his escapes, Zeus and Poseidon in the one-upping of their brother, and Aphrodite in that funny way she got to make people feel. 

Hypnos did it because he was kind. For his low energy level, his enthusiasm for helping him in whatever small way he could was boundless. He didn’t wake up for just anyone clawing their way out of the Styx- but for Zagreus, he always did. 

“Thanks, Hypnos.” Before Sleep can drift back in on himself, Zagreus produces a bottle of ambrosia from his person, thrusting it forward and shocking Hypnos back into full consciousness. “Here, I got you this- as thanks, for all your advice. I know it’s freely given, and I appreciate it, but… well, yes. I appreciate it. I- appreciate you. So please, take this.”

Gold flushes Hypnos’s cheeks as he receives the gift, cradling it in his grasp like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. His lips open and close a few times like butterfly wings before curving into a sheepish smile, tucking the bottle into the folds of his blanket. 

_Has he always been so cute when he blushes?_

The thought strikes Zagreus unexpectedly, and he finds himself blushing in turn, embarrassingly enough. He’d been working through Aphrodite’s influence for much of his previous attempt- was she still with him, making him feel this stupid and blind with affection all of a sudden? That shouldn’t have been possible.

Of course, he’d noticed that Hypnos was cute before- how could he not? The little god looked like a _cloud_ , fluffy-haired and built of soft curves, skin dusted with freckles like constellations. _Of course_ he was cute. He knew that. He had known that forever. There was never a point in time where he hadn’t been ridiculously adorable. 

But they were older now, and that pretty golden blush inspired a tugging at his heartstrings that was not entirely unfamiliar. Meg had made him feel that way, once, although admittedly she tended to ensnare him a little more literally. But she had also made his chest tight without her whip’s influence, and that was because he was madly in love with her, so it-

Oh. 

Oh no. 

There are few worse times to realise that you’re in love with your best friend than when you’re attempting to leave him, and the rest of your life as you know it, behind. But he is babbling some high-pitched thank-yous, and telling him how much it means to him, and his blush has crept down to his chest and he can’t keep himself still for the first time in recent memory, idly swinging his feet where he hovers and fiddling with the corner of his blanket, and he’s the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. 

When he waves goodbye and departs, he heads straight to his room, throwing himself onto his mostly unused bed and smushing his face between a pair of the plush pillows. His thoughts race, conflicting emotions about the past, the future, and whatever just happened there, and suddenly he feels… tired? Not just tired, _exhausted_ , life his eyelids are weighed down with iron. _Sleep only comes on so suddenly when it springs directly from its source,_ he realises in the moment before he succumbs. 

*

When he awakens- or, when he becomes aware of himself again, as this is almost certainly a dream- he is lying in a field of fragrant white flowers, green grass beneath him. Above him, the sky- the real thing, not the facsimile they have in Elysium. This must be the surface, or a reflection of it.

“Hey! I thought we could maybe share this?” 

He sits up almost too quickly. A few feet away sits Hypnos, still draped in his heavy quilt looking untroubled as usual. He holds out the bottle of ambrosia they’d only just exchanged, along with two silver goblets. Hypnos is the master of dreams- this is all by his design; the comfortable temperature, the beauty of their surroundings, the presence of the drink and its vessels, and of course, his being here with Zagreus. 

_Is this a date? Whoa, don’t say that out loud, don’t say that out loud, don’t-_

“Is this a date?” Zagreus blurts out. 

_Damn it!_

Mercifully, Hypnos just chuckles, pouring the ambrosia into the glasses- although the faint blush that graces his cheeks does not go unnoticed.

“Mmmmaybe,” he muses, handing a glass to Zagreus, who almost drops it as soon as it meets his hand. 

However he was going to form a response to that, it got lodged in his throat; he instead took large sips of the ambrosia. It tasted floral, earthy, but sweet and smooth like honey.

“That’s good stuff,” he says when he’s finished it, rather more quickly than he’d intended to. Hypnos nods, lazily bringing the cup to his lips.

“The last bottle was good too, but it’s really meant to be shared, y’know? You start drinking by yourself and suddenly you’ve downed a whole bottle and start feeling kinda non-corporeal,” Hypnos says with a little laugh, “Or maybe that last part’s just me.”

The ambrosia has loosened him up a little- he returns the laugh, pouring himself another glass. Before he drinks, he raises it to meet Hypnos’s. 

“To… um, actually, I didn’t think about what we should toast to,” he says awkwardly, “Any ideas?” 

Hypnos ruminates for a minute, tapping a long finger idly on the side of the cup. “To our friendship? That seems fairly standard.”

He smiles as their glasses bump each other and they drink, but it does not entirely meet his eyes. _To their friendship._ The friendship Zagreus was about to splinter as soon as he made it past his father, leaving him and the rest of the Underworld behind for the foreseeable future. The friendship that, if he was reading the room correctly, could be more than a friendship- but not if he left. 

But he had to leave. 

But, not yet. For now, he could exist in this moment, in this dream, with him. 

He set his cup onto the soft earth and moved himself a little closer to Hypnos, who looked up at him over the curve of his glass.

“Hey, Hypnos?” he said, almost a whisper.

“Yeah?” 

It seemed like there might be more to that statement, but it could not come out over the gentle meeting of their lips. He tasted like, unsurprisingly, ambrosia, and made a little humming sound as they kissed. When they parted, Zagreus opened his eyes. Hypnos blinked at him a few times before giggling, running a hand through his curls. 

“You’re blushing,” he sing-songs, brushing Zagreus’s cheek with one lithe hand, “That’s so cute!”


End file.
